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Jessica Alba

Tom Sutcliffe: What a Carrie on: will we ever agree?

Another week, another cinematic misogyny row. Last week the silt was stirred up – in a rather intriguing way – by Sex and the City 2, a franchise extension which seemed to unleash an informal contest amongst largely male critics to come up with the most scathing dismissal. I think Philip French probably took gold with his, perhaps debatable, suggestion that "most reasonable people would probably prefer to be stoned to death in Riyadh than see this film a second time". But it wasn't just men who hated the movie. Women writers also weighed in, to lament the way that the characters they loved had been reduced to air-headed clothes-horses capable of nothing more creative than swiping a credit card. The charge of misogyny was aimed squarely at the film itself, with some ingenious bloggers introducing an extra triangulation, pointing out that the writers of series and film are gay, and that this might have fed into less than enlightened views about what women really care about.

Diary: The sultan of sitting

It seems Bono's not the only crocked rocker. The singer was "devastated" after back surgery forced him to pull out of Glastonbury (and 17 dates of the "U2 360 tour, sponsored by Blackberry"). Now news reaches us that Mark Knopfler, mid-way through a series of solo shows at the Royal Albert Hall, has been performing from the comfort of an ergonomically-enhanced swivel chair. As he explained to his audience on Monday night, the 60-year-old guitar-stroker and former Dire Straits frontman developed a nasty twinge in his lower back a couple of months ago, and acquired the chair while the problem was being diagnosed. Doctors cured the pain and gave him a clean bill of health, but Knopfler decided he likes the chair and plans to stick with it. Rumours from the backstage camp also suggest his band's bassist is suffering from a spot of arthritis. Knopfler, a decade older than Bono, was once known for doing the "Walk of Life". I guess this is the sit of late middle age.

Jim Thompson: Pulp friction

They're criticised for being violent and misogynistic, but Jim Thompson's Fifties novels make for compelling cinema, as a new version of The Killer Inside Me proves

DVD: The Love Guru, Retail & Rental, (Paramount)

The frustrating thing about 'The Love Guru' is is that Mike Myers still has expert comic timing, but he's shelved almost every form of humour except sniggering references to genitalia, flatulence and most varieties of bodily fluid: it's perhaps inevitable that the film climaxes with a pair of rutting elephants.

Review: Awake

The premise for this film hinges around a billionaire that suffers due to a failed anaesthetic, leaving him fully conscious during open-heart surgery and awake to the unfolding of a devious plot to steal his money. Sound improbable?